


Pretty Boys and Heartbeats

by abi_lynne



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms, Snowbaz - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abi_lynne/pseuds/abi_lynne
Summary: yet another coffeeshop AU because I'm a bitch for fluff. Enjoy!





	Pretty Boys and Heartbeats

Simon  
He had never stayed up all night before.  
Simon’s mind felt groggy, almost drunk, but he was nearly at the point where he’d stopped caring. After 11 straight hours of studying, all Simon wanted was a coffee and a nap. Alas, he had a shift at the shop and was determined not to be fired from yet another job for being late – so he’d settle for just the coffee.  
Slipping on boots and a coat, he paused in the hallway and glanced at his appearance in the mirror, wrapping a scarf around his neck. His curls were a mess, even fluffier than usual, and the circles under his eyes looked bigger and darker than they’d ever been. God, Simon thought, I hope someone else is working today. Anyone else.   
The Starbucks down the street from his job was quiet and nice, but even nicer was the boy who worked there. Simon had only been in a couple times, but even the few, fleeting moments of eye contact were enough to keep him daydreaming for weeks. The dark eyes matched the luxurious black hair, which showed off both the boy’s ear piercings and the sharp curve of his neck. The black t-shirt hugged his chest, and his hands – his hands! – pale and slender and beautiful, were – revolutionary. Really. Simon was sure that no hands had ever looked as good as those hands. Just thinking about him now made Simon blush. The flush to his cheeks and ears warmed him as he walked briskly, getting closer and closer to the green logo on the door. Just a name, Simon decided, I just want to know his name. Nothing else. No flirting, no glances. No talking, even. If he’s even there. I hope he isn’t. I hope he is.  
The chime of the bell upon Simon’s entry made him cringe. It seemed so loud, intrusive. The barista glanced up at the sound, and both relief and slight disappointment bloomed in Simon as he took in the straw-colored hair and wide smile that was definitely not the pretty, mysterious boy he wanted (and didn’t want) to see.  
As he stepped forward in line, looking up at the menu, he didn’t notice the bathroom door open and another barista step back behind the counter. He didn’t notice the line moving forward in front of him, or the semi-annoyed shuffles from people behind him as he stood, staring at the menu, pondering, for far too long. Finally, a clear “ahem” from the woman behind him snapped him out of it, murmuring “sorry” and stepping up, still looking at the menu to confirm his decision. “Could I get a grande pecan maple latte, please? With extra whipped cream.”  
“Iced or hot?”  
Simon’s eyes jolted downwards to the voice that was definitely not the blonde, smiling barista. He was met with dark eyes, pale skin, and a nametag that read “Baz”.  
Baz, Simon thought. That’s perfect.  
The boy cleared his throat, and Simon wondered if anything had ever sounded so beautiful. He stood, waiting for his heart to explode, for several years, when finally, Baz spoke again.  
“Hey - iced or hot?”  
Finally, Simon’s heart started beating again, and he answered, “Iced”, too restricted by the rope winding his stomach into knots to even be embarrassed.  
He finished his order, payed, and sat down, trying not to glance at the hair that framed Baz’s face, or the way he moved quickly, too quickly for Simon to even take in all the curves of his arms or the angles of his jaw. Baz caught him staring. Simon looked away from the boy’s piercing eyes, but not before turning into a star, every part of him tingling. Burning.  
Simon sighed, knowing the reality of the situation. Someday, he wouldn’t get nervous around pretty boys. Someday, he’d be suave and smooth and charming. He’d flirt as he ordered, not staring, but casting furtive glances and batting his eyes. Someday, the other person’s heart would explode, rather than Simon’s, and Simon would act as though it happened all the time. Someday, a boy would write his number on the cup before calling out Simon’s name, and Simon would wink at him as he went to pick it up. He wouldn’t stumble on the way out, or forget his scarf on the table and have to come back in. Someday, some boy in some coffee shop would think he was pretty, too. Right?  
“Simon.”  
Interrupting his thoughts, Simon stood and moved towards the counter, where the smiling, straw-haired barista set his drink down. Before he could pick it up, however, Baz (god, what a name!) took it and scribbled something on it. Simon watched, confused and in disbelief, as the drink was set back on the counter. He watched the boy look up at him, smile – and wink.  
Simon exploded into a million pieces. His heart stopped beating, his head disintegrated.  
There was a phone number on his cup.

Baz  
God, that boy is pretty.


End file.
